Reine des Reinette

They're not Gala or McIntosh apples.

Harvest: late September; Season: October - January
Description: Gourmet dessert apple. Flavor on the sweet side.

Wikipedia's French page translated:

The queen is a variety of apple relatively old, whose maturity occurs in late summer - early autumn.

The INRA d'Angers got around 1975 a mutant characterized by a more intense staining and early maturity. His name is Belrène.

Description of the fruit

The medium fruit has a thick enough skin, slightly rough, heavily dotted with gray, yellow streaked with dull red. Her pale yellow flesh, fine juicy, crisp and tart is very pleasant to chew. This is an especially suitable for pies, especially the tarte tatin.

* Shape: cylinder-conical, slightly depressed on one side at each end.
* Peduncle: medium length, strong, especially at the base, obliquely inserted in a narrow and deep basin.
* Eye: large, half-closed, very large cavity whose edges are generally united.
* Water: sufficient, sweet, tangy and deliciously scented.
* Maturity: December-March
* Quality: First.
* Wood: hard [1].
* Palm: generally small, slightly spreading, the largest and longest, very geniculate and very fluffy, green tinged with red red slate.
* Lenticels: elongated, very large, abundant.
* Pads: very emerged.
* Eyes: large, ovoid, obtuse, clad in bark and downy.
* Leaves: excessively large, oval, somewhat hairy and brownish green above, greenish-white below, shortly acuminate and deeply toothed.
* Petiole: Short, very heavy, tomentose, often fluted.
* Stipules: the longer and wider.
* Fertility: Ordinary. Bon pollinisateur. Good pollinator.

Culture

For full wind, graft flush with the ground, this apple is admirably suited and makes trees rod straight. Dwarf forms, it thrives quite well but needs to be budded on apple Paradise, about making it more productive by lessening the excess vegetation. The variety is particularly susceptible to aphids and has a strong tendency towards alternation.

Obtained in Holland, the tree is hardy and bears the very cold climates of Northern Europe.

The Queen of pippin is particularly recommended in all the orchards because they can pollinate many other varieties. It reached full flower 2 days after Golden Delicious and is pollinated by 'Granny Smith', 'Golden Delicious',' Starking Delicious.

History

Our Queen of Reinettes - whose original name seems to have been "Kroon Renet", belonging to the Batavian language and meaning "Pippin Crown" - was born about 1770. The Netherlands, where it has long cultivated several varieties of apples Kroon, is regarded by the pomologue Diel German as the source country of the latter, he described in 1802. He had received from the Hague under the label Kroon Renet.

In English, the variety called "Queen of the pippin" distinct variety of "King of the pippin", even if the two are often confused.




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I just ate one of these drizzled in the honey from my love affair last year with the Economist Beekeeper Sex God.

Long time comin'

[from Tumblr]

I just finished a blog (elsewhere) on my awesome mum who visited Paris in '68 and kept a matchbook from a drugstore, found it, photographed it and sent it to me. I could write about her in pages and pages of coolness and dumbfoundedness. All families are complicated, but I do think there's a trend of complex relationships between mothers and daughters. My sister gets along better with my mum for the shopping, girl chat, gossip. While I philosophize and politicize and debate with my dad. But I am, core and core, more like my mum than my sister. I see her in the mirror. I fought her like she fought her own mother. I party like her. I may have alcoholism like she does. While I smoke less now, I smoke, like she did. I dance like she does - my father jokes that she has no rhythm, but really she's got like all 16 levels of beats to every song going, in her hands, her head, her hips, her feet, her fingers. She traveled the world on 5$ a day and had princes swooning for her and took photos of VD clinics. I don't have princes, or 5$ a day, or.. um, VD, but we have similar interests. She was a go-go dancer, although she says she kept her bikini on. I took mine off for the Soho shot for the Filmmaker's film. Yes, she's always been a bit removed, a bit distant, a bit untouchable, but always somewhat truthful ("I love you but I don't like you right now" when I was a bratty 15 year old) and forever loving ("love you so much! signed, Mumma").

I could talk about my 26 hour date with Tall Tom and how we had pasta with too many pimentos with the Italian, 2 Indians, and 2 Canadian Indians, and how I stayed the night and we had sex and then the next morning had brunch with an old rich man and his wife at Deux Magots, and then went to the Louvre because we wanted to walk but it was too cold outside, about how he made lies and some half-truths to explain the art, and how he didn't know I had an art degree, and then we walked to the Japanese district to the same café we've tried for 3 times and it still was closed and so we got noodles at another place, and then metro'd to see a movie but there was absolutely nothing good to see so we just went back to his place and while he cleaned out his garbage-smelling refrigerator (because he's a young bachelor) I had a smoke and we then we fucked and napped and I had horrible dreams and felt anxious and claustrophobicized and woke up needing to leave but he convinced me to stay longer for another fuck and I made horrible fun of him by asking if I fucked like a corpse still and if he didn't mean something different then and how shy he was to try to explain, since he'd already stepped up his game by trying his hand at spanking me, and how I did leave and kicked myself in the pants for - again - falling into teaching a boy about what I wanted and then felt slightly relieved that at least there's another man in the world who knows kink and might like it, and then I showered after 26 hours of not showering properly (trying not to be condescending I suggested he invest in shampoo other than man-smelling ones, and maybe some regular soap that's not Axe for Men, and wouldn't it be nice to have some lotion after a shower?), and then, well, I passed out for sheer exhaustion.

I could, certainly, talk about all of that. But really... is there any reason?

My mum rules. I miss her. Boys and men are predictable and I appreciate that, but they're still weird.

A damn fine year

Well, instead of a nice long walk on Tuesday, I got out of bed at 14h30 and decided I couldn't take it any longer. I had been sloth and fat and pizza belly for too long. Flew to the gym down the hill near the Opera. I'd toured it last year in hopes that they'd cut me a student deal (they're ageist in France so students are only up to age 27). No deal, not enough money, and really had no time to breathe last year let alone work-out. But this school year being different, more lazy, more time, I decided fuck it. I gave her my credit card, asked for the 3 months version with towel included, changed, and asked for a tour.

In Paris, the customer is almost never right. So, the guy giving me the tour was definitely not friendly or happy about it. What did I want to do, he asked. Well, cardio-- He cut me off, pointed to the machines in front of us, and said there it is. And, I wanted to do muscles (weights). Ohhh, so he started to take me upstairs to see the weight room. But, I didn't quite remember the layout so I asked for a full tour (damnit).

If you read the CDOA blog since its inception, you'll know how terrified I am by the gym. If you go to a gym, you might understand how humiliated I feel in there. If you're James (who trained me while we dated), then you'll laugh and kick up dirt, wishing you could have been there to see me suffer.

The cardio spinner machine was familiar, although in French, so it wasn't so traumatizing. But the muscles room. UGH. Some of the machines are near the cardio stuff so it wasn't such a hard transition. But I'd already envisioned what I wanted to do to ease myself into it, and all the arms machines were occupied. So, I had to open my voice in funny French and ask if I could work in with this dude. Completely embarrassing because, well you don't start back at the gym after a year+ off by kicking right into the weight you used to lift. So, instead, I'm all lifting just the plain ol' bar with no weight. Yeah, less than a baby weight, like, a no weight weight. Ugh.

Some dudes worked in with me on another machine, both grunting and spastically lifting way too much weight for their own good and doing it too fast, too. (James always coached me to work slowly, get the tiny little muscles deep inside. What was it you said, J? Something about you want to be able to pick up your frail grandma without dropping her, not just bale hay out in the field.) When I stepped up to work in, this one dude (not bad looking, but "cocky-maestro" written all over his face) pulled the pin out and put it into the 5lbs spot, and then winked at me. Ok, sure, it was a nice gesture, but it was also a "Here you go, lil' Missy" gesture. I wanted to sock him in his chiseled jaw. Instead, I subtly squinted my eyes and barely - but noticeably - raised my upper lip in disgust. Some day I'll grow up and be able to punch him in the belly.

After the arm torture, I went upstairs to a bit of chest humiliation. It's not my fault I have tits. Really. They came with the body. So, if you wouldn't mind to stop staring, that'd be just dandy. Did a few chest presses and free weight liftings in the surrounding air of the girl who ruined boys' club.

After, the usual sit-ups and stretches.

Despite the pain of nakedness in the changing room, glaring stares, dirty winks, and general feeling of crapiness, I came out of there flying on a kite. I'm quitting smoking and this is the best way possible. My heart rate on the cardio was too high for something so not challenging, and it took too long to rest. ... I almost kissed everyone I passed on the way home.

Colleague was supposed to come over for martinis and studying. She bailed so I stuck with the martinis. The Italian flew back from Roma and invited me over. While I have a good time with him, it's not entirely fulfilling, and he's got bad breath. I know, it's so petty, but dude, it's bad bad. I've taken to carrying a travel toothbrush with me when I go on over-nights, and have subtly been trying to encourage him to brush-a brush-a brush-a before we pass out and in the morning. He is good for the fact that he play ties me up in a way that is safe but also arousing. And, then he bangs the hell out of me. This time, he also gave me lovely Xmas presents. I'd asked for a rosary from Rome and I got a nice wooden one. He also got me a 2-cup Bialetti Moka Express to match my bigger pot. Very sweet.

The 31st I left my apartment late and realized I was was one of several thousand who were doing last minute NYE shopping. But I found a tie, bought 30E worth of fruit, bought the champagne, and whipped a wonderful fruit salad together with a yummy homemade dressing, got dressed as much as I could in drag for a 1920's-themed party, and got my butt out of the neighborhood.

Party was good. James called to say very nice things to me at midnight. Cheek-kisses all around. Smoked a cigar over the courtyard with 2 very handsome and very taken boys. Ate a ton. Drank whiskey from my flask. Took a lot of photos. Drank champagne. Got drunk. Made a boy 10 years my junior kiss me (so dirty). Realized that I'd not been kissing enough lately, because my mouth went on aggressive (the Italian is a big-mouthed, overpowering kisser) and I realized that the young man was on slow, smooth, sweet, supple kissing mode. I slowed down and sighed. Man, I've missed romantic kisses. He avoided me for the rest of the night, which was about 30 minutes anyway, as I passed out in the spare bedroom.

Jan 1st was swell. The hosts, another cool expat, and I went to a local cafe for coffee. Nibbled a bit on the leftovers. Cleaned. And, I took the metro home. I was definitely still intoxicated on booze, life, beauty, fun, good friends; and the metro ride between Jaures and Barbes, when it goes elevated-style, was so beautiful in its grey Paris haze. And all the people were beautiful. And everyone had a special inner shine coming out just for today. And I wanted everyone to have the best year of their lives.

I've basically done nothing for the past 3 days. I went back to the gym, and it, of course, gets easier. I've also been (over)working on 1 of the 5 papers due this month. And, then, peculiarly enough, I've been writing back and forth with this guy who lives in Lyon and has been reading my blog and Tumblr. Yes, it's a bit strange. I mean, it's only been writing, but you all know how powerful words can be. And, then, it's odd because he reads the blog and I haven't had this kind of intersection very often. Sure, W and Sarah read it and I see them in real life, but they also lead semi-public lives through their own blogs and they're also known freaks, like me. But anyway, it's been a very welcome distraction between this paper-writing bullshit.

Right. So. Joined a gym, made a new friend, talked to old friends, eating better, wore pants and a sock cock, and watched the beautiful winter sun shine rainbows around my room. Now all I need is a really great lay and the year will be off to a damn fine start.

Hope you have all had wonderful NYE and enjoying 2009!

Nada but Crap

Nothing at all interesting is happening.

Christmas Eve, I slaved and made 2 apple pies (which I keep automatically typing applie pies) and 2 vegetarian stuffings (which I am still eating since there were only 7 of us, and not 15 like I had dreamed). Great dinner with new and old friends. Lots of drinking and one embarrassing fart at 3am. I'm trying not to remember it.

I have left my apartment, since Friday 19th, a total of 3 times. Once to see the Italian. Once for Xmas dinner. Once for my friend's birthday out on the town. The rest of the time I've forced myself to at least take a walk around the block or do grocery shopping. I'm turning into Jabba the Hut. But seriously (which I've learned is spelled "srsly" in the www), my staycation (which I've learned is vacation-at-home) has been editing and uploading photos, acquiring new music (mostly from emusic.com, such as Pas Chic Chic, BBC Music Magazine Sampler, The Walkmen, Rodriguez, Bonobo, Heart, Ida Maria, The Pretenders, Pawel Osmolski, Black Mountain, Flying Lotus, The Cinematic Orchestra, Santogold, The Beatles, Lou Reed, Mr. Scruff, Kanye West, Télépopmusik, etc), watching movies (Contact, Virgin Suicides, American Beauty, Y Tu Mama Tambien - in Spanish without subtitles, There Will Be Blood), and then realizing that I have five papers due at the end of January, which should all be written now. So, I pushed one out over Saturday and Sunday and started on another today. I think my ass is taking on the form of the crap chair I sit in.

Friends have called to go out and I've been recluse and bored. A bit of depression for my manic. Yes, the internet has been my world of late. Rather pathetic, and really not a good use of time. I should be job hunting and networking and researching. Not goofing off and Tumblring and Facebooking. Sigh. The internet is my enemy.

In preparation for the new year and my annual superstition that I need to be doing something positive at midnight, I'm going to take a nice, long walk tomorrow in no direction whatsoever. Then, I'll work at least several hours on the current paper. I'm eating a fresh salad and will allow one jack off. And I'd like to drink a nice Pinot Noir if the $ to E hasn't hit 1.50

And you? Got any plans of preparation for your new year? No, no, don't tell me. I don't need more distractions... Ok, well, email them to me instead. My naughty lola inbox has been very, very quiet since all the boys left town.

New photos and words

There are new photos over on Flickr, including the sets:
One-night stand via taxi
"Slut" by flimmaker
The Spaniard 1 and 2
Halloween night and the day after (featuring Tall Tom and a few drunk kids, as well as a few glimpses of school-girl Lola)
Spanking with the TV Producer
Italian playboy


It's Friday and I don't care that it's a weekend because week days have been weekends. I'm home, laundry is drying, and I'm catching up on relaxation, photos, writing, chilling.

I'm not sure if it's that I'm fiercely independent, or so content where I am right now, or that I just don't miss my immediate family, but I saw some photos of Thanksgiving and it looked like snore-bore and yawn and tension - and I didn't feel like I missed anything. I had a half-hour Skype with them before they had to cook the turkey and I ran off to have pasta al dente with the Italian. It made me cringe. My sister has such an expertise at retaining unhappiness and being passive-aggressive. My mother is clearly drowning in suburbia and has no idea how to help herself. My father looked perpetually bored and regretful. And this was just a half-hour, from across the pond, through a video stream. I do love them. I do. But I just can't stand to be with them very much. My dad and I get along the best because we have a knack to cut through bullshit and talk politics, real life, and can be honest with each other. But even he's a fucker - not so nice to my mom always (but they're going on 40 years anniversary so it can't be that bad). And, I'm certainly not perfect in the mix. I only wish I could know what they honestly thought.

I haven't seen the filmmaker in a month. He's out at a 1920's party tonight, to which I was invited and forwarded to him. I need to see him again, but in moderation. There was so much whiskey and crazy Lola.

The one-night-stand guy keeps SMSing me about when I want to hang out again. Ugh. Not with a dude that shows up at the door in his boxers and tee-shirt, with the TV blaring. Yucky.

The Spaniard sent me a short story about him emailing with a chick who wanted him and her boyfriend to fuck her. He ended up meeting the boyfriend, going to the same bathroom stall in a restaurant and jacking off together. He moved further across town so it's not as easy to see him.

Especially when the Italian lives 10 minutes walking distance from me. The only thing is that the Italian seems to be on a rampage. Free from his 3-year relationship (the last 2 years he cheated though), he says he's "experimenting" right now. I'm not sure where I fit into that experimentation, but he fucked a virgin midget. Yes. He told me the whole story after he said he was "experimenting." He fucked a teacher. He fucked a married Mexican woman, taking her ass virginity. It's strange to see myself in a mirror. Although, I know I'm a MUCH better kisser - after the first night I came away with chin rug burn from his stubble. I'm also more interested in finding a rotation of reliable lovers, whereas he just seems to be out to fuck all the women in Paris. He's had at least twice as many lovers as I have in the past month. It kind of makes me feel dirty, which makes me think about my own lifestyle. .... But then, he pulls out the olives, bread, homemade guacamole, wine, and makes pasta al dente. And in the morning he pours perfectly strong coffee, serves small chocolate croissants, and homemade tiramisu. This morning he had to leave super early for work and SMS'd me: "Buongiorno bella, whenever you wake up there is a tiramisù waiting for you. I made it for you, don't disappoint me... baci"

On Tuesday night, Tall Tom took me to dinner. A kir royale to start. I had escargot, he had funny mashed potatoes. Then, he had the veal and I had the salmon. We shared our desserts and had two bottles of wine. 80 Euro dinner. He's very sweet to me, which throws me for a loop. He calls me, tenderly, "silly Lola" and is treating me so nicely, almost like a girlfriend. I'm not sure how I like this. I like the secrecy part of it, as he attends my program, but just started this year so we don't have any classes together. But then, in the morning, he wants me to pet his head and body and wants to roll me over into his arms, resting my head on his chest. I told him it felt awkward.

Strange.

Strange things.

School is fine. It was quiet for the past 3 weeks, which was totally needed. Now, I'm seeing the finish lines for papers and need to get working. In my small group, we've finally figured out what our final project will be, which will involve a multi-national corporation, a European Union directive, an emerging economy in EU, and making an enterprise risk management toolkit to integrate into their plans for expanding their markets into this country. Should be fun! Some travel, some interviews, some work. Meanwhile, I'm also starting the job search. ... Know anyone hiring? I'm really good at ... um... well.. heh.. No, I won't do that. Silly!

Look for my expanded entry on my trip to Bahrain. My bag searched in a Muslim country, me working for Euros, the ex-pat party with gay Saudis, the flight over Iraq, the thousand men and one woman, the camels, etc...

When in Rome, do as the Romans - when in Minneapolis, do what you want

[New to Cheating Death Once Again v.3? The beginning is a good place to start -- scroll all the way down darling.]


So, elections are over. I was out of the office that whole week and man did it feel fucking awesome.

James and I started our relationship two years ago as crazy fuckers, dating, playing, partying and somewhere after New Years I started to think seriously about trying to call it a "relationship" and talked to him about giving a relationship a good 'ol fashioned try. Well, now we know that I'm not relationship material and I mean "relationship" in the old fashioned sense. Or, maybe even the liberal sense. I started to grow tired and weary of nice, loving sex in the tender mornings after sleeping together. He started to love those moments. I was the one who started the relationship adament about not being monogamous and he's the one who ended up having the "open" part of it all. Different strokes for different folks, I guess. We're still friends and work-out partners. Well, actually, he's been patient and kind enough to mentor me through working out still so my ass doesn't get too flabby. Although, for some reason he keeps telling me to stay home and eat twinkies. Huh. Tomorrow's our 2nd year anniversary and I'd like to say we're doing something together but he's in Milwaukee - no doubt playing with some sweet girl who had no idea what she was getting herself into but totally enjoying it all the same. And, I'm on hour 12 of applications, financial aid research, minor breaks for Mad TV, and a few coctails. Tomorrow I believe I'll continue the work. And I guess that's just the perfect way to celebrate our non-relationship relationship.

Regardless of what is or isn't between us, it didn't stop us from going out Saturday night after the elections. He picked me up and we had sushi. I was pretty sure that there wasn't chemistry any longer but we went over to the pool hall for some games anyway. And, I was still pretty sure that there wasn't chemistry and - in normal, blunt Lola fashion that I thank the bejesus that James doesn't just walk out on me every time - I brought it up. He was kind of pussyfooting around us, around me, around the pool table and I was rather getting fed up with it. I mean, I guess I'd been ballsy of late and rather in control of my own self and making the decisions. He'd been reacting to my decisions and trying not to just explode at me and walk out, keeping it together, keeping it a bit distant. So, I grabbed him by the shirt collar, pulled him to me, and leaned in to make out. We even stumbled back a bit and I think I pushed my tongue into his mouth. There! That's passion. That's what I'd wanted. That's what I was missing.

When we got back to my place we were both a bit snockered. We sat on the carpet and I poured myself another drink. "Where's your mojo?" That was easy for drunk Lola to say, hard for James to hear. But I guess that's what it boiled down to in my mind. Where was the spunk, the heat, the crazed and overpowering lust and domination, the brutality, the control, the degredation?

PDH once explained, "The paradox, I find, as a dom myself is that the closer I get to someone, the harder it is to dom them. It's easy to humiliate and discipline a stranger in a way. Different when you wake up next to them in the morning and make them toast. If you see what I mean. The trade off is that of course, you get to love. And love and companionship aren't a trivial thing. I don't presume to know what you need/want, just I hope it works out for you."

Well, James did not take kindly to me asking where his mojo went, but he swallowed it with pride and courage. And, then took it out on me as I took it out of him. On the bed, trying to tie me up, I was not a limp, compliant Lola. I tossed and turned, kneed and scratched, I twisted and turned, wrastled and wrestled. And he kept me on the bed and forced me into exhaustion and acceptance.

In the morning we both felt better. My muscles ached. I remembered how good it felt to be overpowered by him. And, I think he was able to wake his mojo again.

The next weekend I went to Minneapolis for a conference. Drove up there Thursday with the interns and thought I was going to shoot myself but it ended up being a nice 4 hour drive of fun conversation and jokes. After dinner with all the conference kids, I went back to my room, ordered up a beer, and hooked in the laptop. I guess I've had a resurgance of courage and risk. I decided to un-divorce my sister and told her I was in town and thought she might want to come to dinner with all of us on Saturday night. I was emailing our pal Hex and he reminded me that our pal Clichemonster was living in the cities still. So I dropped him an email to see if he'd be around over the weekend and would he want to meet up quickly. Then, I decided to drop an email to a colleague to see if he was in town, too. Said colleague was, indeed, at the conference and wondered if we could meet for dinner on Friday. He and I had hooked up a few times before although many of the dates ended without any sexual interaction because I was too drunk and suddenly overcome by a feeling of guilt or complication over a current lover. But, now I was free and feeling a bit over-sexed and under-touched. All day Friday, work was replaced by flirtations, accidental eye stares, panty wetting feelings, and trying to hide the unethical tryst. First of all, he's my superior (in a way), a high level CFO of another state's Dem Party, the chair of the CFO affinity group, and a pal to our CFO. Secondly, he's married although technically separated although sleeping on the couch at their place "for the sake of the kids." I'm a whore. I know I am. I know it.

Clichemonster and I decided to meet at 5pm in the hotel lobby. It was so nice to meet him in person, and it really felt very relaxed and comfortable. He had the wrong hotel and actually ran over while we texted descriptions, blocks, and hellos. It was a really quick intro and a brief hug. Granted, I only had 15 minutes to hang out with him between end of conference for the day and the reception. But he thought he'd be available to come meet us out Saturday night. I wasn't quite sure what I was getting myself into - either with this guy who I only knew from the virtual world, or inviting my sister, this guy, and trying to get laid. It felt nice to be a bit overwhelmed and I had this weird energy from god knows where. Like, I could have gone all night had I not had a presentation on Saturday morning. I could have juggled 3 more friends and guys, coulda done coke and smoked all night, coulda spent $500 in a strip club, coulda swaggered in the next morning and bombed the workshop but held my head high in experience. Needless to say, some of that happened, but not all. And I was a good lil' presentater.

I joined my co-workers at a nice 5:30pm reception and ended up wining a case of beer. Fuck, that's right. I won a case of beer. I shouldn't be buying more gin and tonic! Seriously though, I don't drink beer. You want some of my beer? Right, so I won a trivia quiz and got a case of beer. Oddly enough, I had stepped out for a smoke with the tryst man when they called my name. We planned to head out in half-hour for dinner away from the downtown area. It wasn't easy trying to sneak away from co-workers and interns, but I was able to and cabbed it over to the old Loring Cafe which is now Cafe Lurcat. The conversation was work-based because I wasn't sure what to say or how to say it so instead, I probbed and got all the juicey insider scoop we all dream of getting from the boss's boss who has the eagle eye view. It was a fucking fabulous meal and I recommend it to anyone who's on a special-occassion date. I had 2 glasses of white wine, 3 raw oysters on the half shell with mignonette, horseradish and lemon ($3.25ea), and the seared ahi with lemon confit and ponzu ($24.5). I wasn't really paying attention to what Mister Mister had.

After our meal we went outside to share a smoke and I apologized for my previous behavior. I feel like I've been apologizing a lot lately. Even right now, home alone on a Saturday night when I could be getting totally wasted I'm still sipping slowly and not crossing into a wild brink. Even with James on the wicked night of wrestling I didn't feel quite over the drunken edge, although I know was teetering and don't remember all the details. But I apologized to Mister Mister for forgetting a lot of our interactions, conversations, reasons why, and how it happened. He very nicely reminded me of some of the details and forgave some of my idiotic actions.

The bathrooms at the Cafe shared common space sinks and at one point we found each other there and started making out. His hand was starting a rough grope when someone walked in and joked that we get a room. So Mister Mister paid the tab and cabbed us back, asking the cabbie to drop us off a block away. Not too uncommon I'd suppose, but I still felt rather immature. I let him go ahead and waited as he texted me his room number.

Our make-up make-out was rather giggly and rough. After taking off my pants, he instantly rolled me over and proceeded to slap my belt across my ass. Definitely not quite measuring his strength or direction. My ass was stinging and I told him to stop - 1) I'm not a pain slut, 2) I asked if he'd tried this out on his own ass lately. I find it's really not easy being the most experienced, dirty minded sub in the room. This means that others end up tapping into a very nether region of their loins and brains. It means they get carried away and think they have some innate power and strength and command, and they think they can -finally!- do whatever it is they've dreamed of doing or experimented once and want to try again. I'm not an idiot either, nor am I naive, and I hope James never reads this because I know he'll feel protective and maybe even a bit self-defeatist thinking he could have protected me. But I am my own woman and I know how to handle situations. Mister Mister just got a little rough is all, a bit more rough than I was planning. And while his cock isn't nearly James's or (R)Andy's size, it was long enough to make me gag. And he liked that too much and held me there for too long sometimes. I didn't end up tossing the lovely oysters but I did end up pushing back a lot more than I like.

There was sex. Lots of sex. Front and flipped over and on the side sex. And I can now tell between a practiced man and a man needing practice. Or, maybe it's just plain ol' hard to live up to the best -- once you go black you never go back? Well, I've had delicious oysters and it's just hard to be satisfied with guppies. We did roll and laugh and kiss and he told me about his fancy small ipod. I did have to be in bed though. Beauty rest and all...

Don't mind the spelling mistakes, they're not due to drunkenness but to laptop typing - to which I am not accostumed. To James: "I couldn't wait.And Idon't want to tell you about it b/c I don'tw ant to know about your adventures. (I hate typing on laptops Ialways miss the space bar) I hooked up here w an previous lover and I don't knowthat I want to tell you about it.

On theother note, I got to meet Clichemonster in personwhich was cool. He's nice. We only chatted for 5 minutes but I wholly support bloggers meeting in person.

Istill love you and want to be your tying subject and want to hang out but it might get more complicated. Idon'twant to hurt you or make things dramatic or hard and Iknowthey are."

To Lola:

"pretty buzzed.

I just read for the first time that you fucked some guy when I wasn't around. then I called you real quick. sorry to wake you up, but I thought you might be chatty. It's only 12:30 at night. ......

I was absolutely fucking certain that you'd sleep with someone, if nothing else than to further break the bond between us. I know you need separation, and you are going to create it. I understand. It's fine. I'm doing the same thing. The only difference is you caused it and I'm reacting to it, but it all works out the same. We are creating a chasm of sorts between us. We aren't bf and gf, but we can still be lovers perhaps and friends for certain.

you don't have to tell me about your experience with said previous lover if you don't want to, sweetie. although, I'd be curious why you need to hide, and I'm sort of curious if it was kinky or just vanillas.

if you still love me and want to be my tying subject, I'm curious what might get more complicated...
You are not making things harder, or more dramatic, and I mean it. You couldn't possibly be any worse than I am, for god's sake. Just don't fuck any of my really close friends, and we'll be just fine. that's all I ask of you, please.

I won't tell you any more about what my adventures, until I understand where you are coming from.

I still want to know. When do you bleed?
tell me. it helps me understand your mindset, dammit.
I might talk to you tomorrow, but I am rather busy. You have fun, don't worry about me.

dont worry.

fuck

like

a

slut

I love you"

He does know me well. Saturday's to come.....